


the grotesque romance of two people

by Emeka



Series: good men and roses [1]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Age Difference, Consensual But Not Safe Or Sane, Fantasy, M/M, Power Imbalance, Unhealthy Relationships
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-15
Updated: 2019-12-09
Packaged: 2019-12-30 00:17:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 18,148
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18304406
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Emeka/pseuds/Emeka
Summary: Once upon a time... this isn't one of those stories, though.





	1. a witch and a boy

In some distant faroff time, mankind had been forced to build anew.

 

A witch makes his living in the woods beside the Judicael river. Like most witches, he lives alone in seclusion. Primarily for his own good, but a little for that of others as well.

It is exceedingly rare anyone comes across him. The ones he does see out here are passing huntsmen in need of shelter. A handful of those over a hundred years. More commonly he travels to town for trade or companionship, however shallow, a few times a year. At this point, the sound of birds whistling in the morning and wolves howling in the eve are more familiar to him than human voices.

Still he knows a human scream when he hears one.

The witch feels more curiousity than dread. Most likely what he heard was the result of accident or animal attack. Nothing a witch can do to help. He leaves his cabin anyway. No creature will bother him and he can provide simple first-aid or euthanasia if necessary.

He's nearly barrelled over by one man, then another, the second he leaves his porch. By the time he thinks of swearing them out, they are far enough away it would only be a token gesture. All he sees now are moving colors off in the brush; deep green, which only makes him more curious.

"Assholes," he mutters disgruntedly to himself, for his own satisfaction. Not hurt if they can run off like that, but--looking straight ahead where they had come from, he does see someone huddled on the ground. There's a feeling coming from it he hasn't felt in a long time but could never forget. He smells burned sugar so thick it sticks to the back of his throat.

It is deep in the fall season now. All the leaves have fallen and crunch under his tennies as he walks. The bundle he sees is all covered with dead leaf bits and twigs, so it must have been wandering a while.

It snarls as he approaches, which naturally makes the witch wary but he is still unafraid. This close, he sees an overlarge hoodie jacket with ratty fur trim, and dark hair dingy with dirt and knotted all to hell.

"You alright?" the witch asks, bending close to see. He smells blood, so strong for a moment it almost masks the burned sugar before melding with it in a sickly-sweet stench. "You're hurt. Let me take a look."

It at least looks up at him this time to snarl (what big fangs you have!) and he sees it is a boy, as he knew it must be.

"Don't you talk?" The boy is far smaller than him. It won't be any trouble to subdue him if need be, especially as he's injured. "Tell me what happened." And then, taking a chance in the feeling he gives him, "I'm a witch."

The boy does not snap when the witch helps pull him up, which he takes as a good sign--then he sees what must have sent those men running.

The boy is gutted. His intestines try to bloom between his fingers. So much blood has plastered him from the waist down it's a surprise he's still conscious.

"Good god," the witch says, too shocked to sound shocked. "Let's get you inside, at least."

The boy is compliant but so quiet the witch worries he might faint. His legs move fine however, and his face is focused, the skin he thinks naturally pale beneath the dirt.

He brings him through the porch into the kitchen, where he can at least not bleed on the rugs. The boy sits in the chair he is offered, and looks around like a nervous cat but seems unconcerned with his unzipped stomach.

Must be shock, the witch decides. What should he do? Living alone has necessitated some knowledge of self-care, but this is beyond him, and there's no doctor for miles. Should he clean and sew him up? He has no serious anesthesia but if the boy will be still and let him...

The boy stares at him blankly while he quickly explains his idea.

"No," is the boy's first directed word at him. "I'm fine." His voice sounds like clotted rust. Disused. Like the words are hard to find and then not cooperative.

"Fine?" the witch repeats, with a note of incredulity.

"Better." His hands part and indeed, the wound, while still grievous, looks more closed than it had outside. "I'm always."

It takes a moment for it to sink in. "Your hands heal themselves?"

The boy looks up at him, brow briefly knitting in some emotion or thought that does not reach the rest of his face. "You're magic. I thought..."

"What, that I'd know about this? No. I've never... That feeling, though. Aren't _you_ a witch? I felt it coming off you; is it related to your healing?"

The boy's lips jerk back from his teeth in a moment's grimace. "No. It just happens."

"Hmmm." The witch recalls what his master had taught him about 'wild magic', and his own experiences growing up before his apprenticeship. "Untrained witches can unconsciously use their magic in ways trained ones can't, but this still seems extreme. How old are you? How long has this been going on?"

"Don't know. I don't know." The boy's eyes are very wide and very pale a blue, so wide he continually looks startled. The witch wonders if this expression is how his face is, or if it's the situation at hand. Their light coloring makes him look gawky. "Always this. Always the same."

"You don't remember?" the witch asks doubtfully. "Some long-standing immortality, perhaps? How many years _do_ you remember, then?"

"I remember... a maiden killed himself. Everyone said so, in the towns."

The witch's heart thuds hard. That incident had been all anyone talked about... around three hundred years ago. Could it really be? "And you've survived other wounds like this?"

The boy parts his hands again. All that is left behind the torn remains of his shirt is a raw red line. "Yes."

What exactly has fallen into his lap? Could he really be so fortunate as to have obtained such a precious thing? "What caused that, anyway?"

"Me." The boy pats something in his pocket. "Grabbed me. My clothes. No."

The witch suppresses a scowl. In those forest green coats, they'd likely been on a hunt when they came across this lost lamb. "You did it to yourself."

The boy nods. "Who are you?"

"Eris," the witch says. "I was around for the same incident you recall. But that's just my blood magic and vanity--if I gutted myself, it would like as not kill me."

"I've never met a witch." The boy's eyes seem to widen imperceptibly to take in more light. "People who've known me, hated me. Witch, they said." Speaking more, his voice oils itself and smoothes out. But it is still very flat, without the lilt of casual speech.

"That's why I live out here. So..." Even if he's rejected he has to make a try for the opportunity being presented to him. "Where are you going from here?"

The boy is quiet a moment, but he doesn't look away. When he speaks, he sounds almost hopeful. "Here. You won't hate me."

"I won't, but not because I'm also a witch. Your body--it's so special, I'd like to keep it here." It's as diplomatic as he can make it when he keeps wanting to look at his reddened skin. In his head he sees it back and forth, knitting up and slicing open, the intestines blooming like flowers between his fingers. "To keep me _company_."

He thought this might make the boy back out, or at least hesitate, but he only says 'yes', as though he expected it.

Might he really have the thing he's wanted for so long? It pains him a little to do it, to risk it, but he must make himself understood. "We'll have sex. And since you're immortal, I... I'll want to hurt you."

The boy nods again. "I don't care. Let me stay."

"What is your name, by the by?" Eris asks absently. The boy follows him down the one small hallway he has, past the bathroom and the nook he calls his dining room, into his bedroom. His hands are still pressed tight to his abdomen. Anxiety, maybe.

"Morgan?" His tone sounds like he's asking Eris whether it is. He hasn't exactly come off as well-socialized in their minute of conversation, and then there is his implied treatment by others.

"It's a good one. Now, here, on the bed."

He's made his room perfect for himself over the years. Thick down pillows are neatly in place on side of the bed amid sheets of high-thread cotton and a blanket of silver fox fur for the coming chilly nights, heaped onto a canopied four-poster bed he bought and wheeled over piece by piece from the nearest town. Residual scents of orange and jasmine hang in the air from unlit incense sticks on the lowboy dresser.

Imagine sharing it all with someone beside himself and cats.

But Morgan seems to give it all only a cursory glance on his way over the lamb rug (for those mornings on an otherwise all wooden floor) to sit on the bed. He seats himself on the edge and looks up, waiting.

Looking at him from this angle and to his leisure, there's something amazing about the perch of his hips and how they gently sway up to a small waist--and what hips, for such a young-looking boy. Not quite girlish, but a sweet handful on his frame. He can imagine the undoubtedly soft crease of his hip bone, and what juicy things must be waiting beneath...

His mouth is watering, and he hasn't even touched him yet. "You know what I'm going to do to you, right? An idea, at the least?"

"No."

Salivating, that's what he's doing, and his heart is beating so eagerly he can feel it in his fingertips. "Are you a virgin?"

The boy's--Morgan's--eyebrows crease slightly. "A what?"

"Have you ever had sex?"

"What?"

"What do you mean, 'what'? Isn't that what you gutted yourself over? Those men trying to have you? What you agreed to with me?"

Morgan's shoulders lift slightly in a shrug. "They grabbed me." Then with a vague tone of reproach, "Let me stay."

Immortal. _Looks_ like a young boy. And a virgin so virgin he doesn't even know he is one. He closes his eyes briefly, and though he does not believe in gods, offers up thanks to whatever powers may be for this. "I'll show you how to do it. I have so much in mind for you--but since you're a virgin, your first will be sweet. I'm experienced. I can make it nice for you."

"You're going to touch me..." He doesn't look or sound like he feels anything nice about the possibility. But Eris can imagine the life he's led, where being in contact with someone leads to nothing good.

"Yes."

He lays him down against all his fine sheets and pillows, where he looks exceedingly out of place. Later, tomorrow, there will be time to bathe him when he normally bathes.

"You're so cute," he whispers. Even with his big creepy eyes. Even filthy. He wants to feel and look at him all over. "Up a little. Your clothes."

Morgan sits up on his elbows and allows his jacket and the remains of his shirt to be stripped from him. The mark on his stomach is a faint pink line now, past the blood still crusted to his belly. He wants to play with it, cut him open again, but that will all have to keep.

Morgan watches him very neutrally as his shoes and pants are stripped off--small callused feet, shapely calves, god these thighs just how he knew they would be.

He suckles up one, the slightly plump flesh nipped between his teeth. It tastes like dirt and blood and soft baby skin. His cock hurts, it's so hard in his jeans. He could frot these thighs and come happily just like that.

He leaves a fading kiss mark before moving on to pulling down Morgan's underwear. Worn cotton boxer-briefs, very boyish, over a just pubescent cock. Soft, no surprise there. Only the mound is covered with hair, and that downy still, like the hair on his arms.

"I'm going to put my fingers in your bottom, and then my... my penis," Eris finishes, using the terms he thinks he'd be most familiar with. "I'll try not to let it hurt, but it still might be uncomfortable, since it's your first."

Morgan nods. His face is still enticingly blank; he can't wait to put an expression on it. It'll be best to warm him up before the main event. Just not so much that he comes. Morgan could probably make a turnaround, as young and inexperienced as he is, but wouldn't it feel good to have a virgin's first orgasm on his cock?

"Oh, sweetling," he sighs, inching a hand underneath his ass to pull him up a bit. Morgan is so fair that his more delicate flesh is pink. Lips, nipples, cock and balls, even his bare, hairless anus. "I could just eat you up." Actually, hold that thought.

"Hold onto your legs for me," he says, pulling him more onto the small of his back. Morgan grabs his legs behind the knees and keeps them pressed to his chest. His face peering between looks like some weird owl.

Eris settles down on his elbows and takes Morgan's butt in both hands, using his thumbs to to spread the cheeks slightly and better see his aim. He notices first a heady scent of dried sweat.

Morgan starts hard at the first lick, jamming his tongue into his teeth.

"Relax, alright?" he says in dry humor, taking a moment to rub the injured part against the roof of his mouth. "You'll be fine."

The only response he gets in an impassive stare. He could at least have the grace to look apologetic.

Eris licks slowly and gently at the little pink anus laid before him. It tenses at his touch, turning rigid against his tongue. The taste is appealingly new to him. Salt and dirt. The ones he's done this with before all bathed beforehand.

Soon he tests the unmoving hole by pressing his tongue hard over it. If he really tried he could enter it but this is all he wants right now, to slather over this cute hole. He wants his drool all over it.

He squeezes the ample handfuls of ass in his hands, pulling it against his face, licking and slurping noisily away. It's hard not to hump against the bed for any kind of stimulation.

"You're delicious," he murmurs, eyeing the smooth sack in reach. Too likely to get him off. But he hopes he's gotten him getting off at his pace more likely. Morgan is hardly squealing and flailing around but his eyes have softened a little, and his breathing has deepened. He wanders up a bit more, tracing lightly over the perineum. What a cute dimple. He attaches his mouth and firmly presses the flat of his tongue into it.

Morgan sighs aloud, like a reward, the sound of which goes straight into Eris' cock, a sudden upsurge of lust that makes him sure for a few delirious seconds he's going to come in his pants.

Too dangerous. He is pleased to note how much more pliable Morgan feels to his tongue before he gets to his knees.

"Keep yourself like that," he says, voice scratchy in his throat. He slowly unzips himself (he's wearing briefs and has never gotten caught in his zipper before but this would just be the perfect time to start) and fishes his dick out.

Wait. Lube. Calm down.

He feels an instant of intense gratitude when he yanks open his bedside drawer and finds his jerk-off bottle right there. He never has one-nighters at his own place, so he'd been tempted to go cheap for plain hand lotion. His finickiness in such matters ultimately won out, and happily so. Lotion still might work, but he's experienced with and sure of actual lubricant.

He sits back in his spot, bottle in hand, and gives himself a quick nail-check before generously applying the spoogy stuff into his palms. He rubs them together to warm it up before touching Morgan's anus, mostly outside first, pressing into it, before slowly inserting a finger.

Morgan jerks again, smaller than the first time. He frowns a little.

"Does it hurt?"

"No."

"Just feel weird?"

"Yes..."

"Tell me if it does hurt."

He pulls carefully on the rim, to one side and then the other, up and down, slowly so that Morgan will relax even for this. The second finger enters with fairly little trouble, and he repeats the same stretching exercises.

"Tell me how this makes you feel," he says with deliberate blandness. His fingers travel further in, pressing against the front wall. Morgan's face hasn't changed throughout the entire procedure so he's not sure how to read it.

"S'weird," Morgan mumbles.

Another spot. "And this?"

A soft sigh.

That's encouraging. Hopefully he'll react to getting fucked just as well. "Remember, tell me if anything feels wrong. Alright?" He lubes up his cock and gives it a tap against the anus being presented to him. "Sex itself shouldn't hurt."

Morgan shifts slightly on his shoulders and strains his neck to forward to look down. A shadow of unease or simple disbelief crosses his features. "That's going inside me?"

"That's the plan," Eris says cheerfully, admiring for a moment the way his cock looks on such a small, shapely ass, inbetween those lovely thighs. At seven (and a half!) inches in length, and five (and a half!) inches in girth, he has always considered himself appreciably big. The real magic as he thinks of it, however, is less in the size than in the shape; a pronounced corona and upward curve. Not everyone he's ever fucked was a fan, due to personal physiology, but more often the response was a good one.

Please like it too, he wishes, slow-slow-slowly driving in. It's easier going than he thought it would be at first, but only an inch in Morgan presses his heels against Eris' chest.

"Too much?"

"It's just... full. Toilet."

Eris laughs. "That's normal. It'll go away."

Another inch, slowly gained, Morgan's feet pushing and relaxing against him by turns.

"You feel good. So tight, hot, wet," he murmurs, still, feeling the warmth pulse around him. "If it's not too overwhelming, you can clench down on me. It might be too much for you, so don't worry about it."

Morgan nods wordlessly, and tightens down only once before making a blurry little groaning sound and closing his eyes, head fully laid back on the pillows. "Can't."

He's so cute... it almost makes him want to fingerbang the daylights out of him instead. "What you probably just felt was your prostate. I imagine I'm already stimulating it, but squeezing helps."

Morgan jerks his head in a kind of nod but does not try again. His hand lifts a split-second before the fingers shut and relax. In that instant, had he thought of doing something? Was it just reflex?

At this point Eris begins to pump in and out a little instead of driving in. It is also at this point he begins to wonder about his stamina. He's probably leaking all over his insides; this warmth in his gut is a little too familiar.

He gathers Morgan's legs in his arms and leans forward against his thighs. Another inch about hard-won. Morgan starts to whimper very sexy little mh-mh-mh sounds with the change in position but he can't pay too much attention or he'll spurt for sure. Even the sound of them fucking has gotten so nice and noisy and the bedsprings, he hadn't realized until now he was pounding him enough to get those creaky bastards going.

And somehow that's what does it. Maybe because there's something primal and base about the sound but knowing they're making the bed creak is what sends him over.

He buries his face in Morgan's delicious soft thighs and tries very hard not to jut his hips any further than they've already been. His cock feels like it's jetting come by the gallon; it's probably squirting all over where he hasn't fucked yet (and that thought of course, of ejaculating into somewhere still virginal, gives him an extra pulse or two).

He sighs in a great whoosh of breath as he comes down. "Sorry," he says shakily, smiling, "didn't mean to finish so quick."

Morgan gulps and nods again. It's gratifying to see that his cheeks have reddened. And looking down, his cock is still soft, but wet with pre-come.

Now, what to do... it would do Morgan good to take some initiative, now that he's in the mood.

"I'm bushed," Eris says. "Let's trade places. You can have some fun while I recover."

Morgan sits up but looks visibly hesitant. "I don't... can't do any of that."

"That's fine. You don't have to. Just explore, or whatever you like, until this--" he points to his dick "--gets erect again. You're so cute, it won't take anything more."

They switch places. Eris lays back against his pillows and enjoys the sight of an unsure, inexperienced little boy sitting between his legs, looking at him with utmost intensity.

To his surprise Morgan does not immediately reach for his dick, but instead leans over him, hands reaching up past his belly, his chest, to grasp the sides of his head. His palms feel thin and warm on his cheek. His fingers firmly press into his scalp and then slowly drag through his hair, down to his waist.

"What are you thinking?" He feels so content and into him right now, a way he rarely has with anyone else. Every little movement of his face draws his curious eye--what does that mean? how does he feel?--down to the movement of his eyeballs. Perhaps it is because he is so young to look at, so valuable, thirteen or fourteen.

"Your hair is gold. And long. Mine doesn't grow."

"No?" Morgan's hair is thick, knotted, but fairly short, just around his ears. He would have assumed beforehand it was kept this way for practicality's sake, but to hear it doesn't grow... maybe it's related to his immortality. Some manner of stasis, say, that doesn't so much heal wounds as it reverses them, might also keep him from aging, and his hair from growing.

This hair-stroking continues a few moments, before Morgan starts tracing his facial features, skin barely meeting skin. How does he seem to him? They are both fair-skinned and run slender; those are the only physical similarities they have. Eris is a man grown, with a more masculine body and cast than this child with his big-eyed face.

"Your eyes are different colors," Morgan says, thumbing the hollows of his cheeks. 

"Many witches have odd-eyes. Or purple." Eris' own master had been heterochromatic, and so insistent on living with other people that he wore contacts to hide them. It always seemed like too much trouble, pretending to be what he wasn't.

Morgan's fingers skim up over the high, pronounced curve of his cheekbones, his forehead and widow's peak, down the aquiline nose, to briefly touch his philtrum before glancing over his lips. It fires off a burst of pleasurable sensitivity that makes him jump.

Morgan looks back and forth between his eyes and mouth. "Was that good?"

Eris touches him in return, tracing the full lower lip. He jerks away.

"Tickles."

"Sorry. But it was a good tickle, right?"

Morgan does not answer except to again touch his mouth.

Still lower he goes, touching his jaw and chin, his adam's apple, before spreading his fingers on his chest. They rest a moment. Eris wonders if he can feel his heartbeat, or if he's interested in the movement under his palms with each breath. The intense expression still hasn't left his face. He's right there, available and adorable, so... Eris kisses his dust-choked hair, and his burnished cheeks that shy away from him. Impossible not to.

Staying thumb to thumb, Morgan's hands slide down the indentations of his ribs onto the flat expanse of stomach. Eris' hands feel up his back like a counterweight, over the complex buttery muscles up to the scapula. 

"You're so small... I really like the way you look. Do you like me too?"

Morgan spares him a quick look, then turns his face as Eris dips his head to kiss the crook of his neck. His skin tastes like a saltwater stain. "Yes."

"Yeah? Why?"

"Because...," Morgan starts in a thoughtful near-drawl, going down now to his lower belly, touching the crease of his hips and the beginnings of his pubic hair. "You're so different from me. But the same."

Eris smiles. "We're a good match, then."

"And you're also... bigger," Morgan says, looking at Eris' cock. Eris isn't quite sure if he means it's getting erect again (as it is) or that his cock is bigger than his (as it also is), until he continues. "Ready?"

"I think it'll do. You want it like before?"

He's pleased to see him squirm a little. "Inside me?"

"On your back, I mean. Or do you want it like this on top of me?"

"Oh. Either, if I can see your face.

That's kinda charming. Eris nods over to the lube. "Better get me ready again. It needs reapplying after a while."

The lube comes out without a hitch. Morgan starts right off rubbing his head with it, causing an odd dual sensation of discomfort from the cold and arousal from being touched by hands that aren't his.

He lowers himself down with obvious trembling hesitation, enveloping Eris in the feel of his tight warmth. But more than his ass, he likes his face, the look of it, that pleasure he wishes he had experienced when he lost his virginity. He wants to inscribe it into his brain, remember always how sweet his open mouth looks, everything that says, this is my first time having sex, and it is amazing. The slightly surprised tinge is the best part; like he can't believe it's possible to feel this way, or like he's not even sure what it is he's feeling.

Morgan inches up and down on him, breathing deeply. Then back and forth, and the sight of his undulating hips is a sight to see. His eyes half-close in concentration, brow lowering. He looks lost in it.

And Eris loves it. He does, with every bit of him. But his desires have always been mixed and at the same time, he wants to leave his mark all over him. Bust his nose or a lip, black an eye, at the very least. Destroy him in every possible way, fuck him silly then cave his head in, god--please let it be possible.

There's a pregnant pause he isn't surprised by, where Morgan stops. It must feel a little scary. He soothingly rubs his thighs, his hips. "Tell me."

"I-it's-I dunno--" his lips tremble as he speaks, barely keeping any single shape.

"You can hold onto me, and bite or scratch if you need to." He'd even prefer it. "What you're feeling is normal. Just let it happen."

Morgan tremulously nods and leans closer, one arm going around Eris' neck, the other hand pressing its fingers deep into the meat of his back... waiting to dig in. His eyes look at him with a naked trust that feels ridiculously touching from this feral little thing.

He manages to settle on a comfortable rhythm for himself, and it is in fierce, short thrusts. His ass pummels into Eris' thighs with slapping sounds that make him wonder what it would be like to sit this boy on his lap and spank him. Would he still be making these 'mh mh mh' noises? And that's another thing that makes him perfect, so young even if he isn't. No 'fuck my ass' or 'pound me hard'. Pure sound.

He comes again, somewhere between the actual feel of Morgan, and his mental masturbating over what he wants to do to him. It would be hard not to be disgruntled with himself, if he at all wanted to resist the feeling. Wanting to beat a kid is one thing, but being a shitty lover is another (and, almost more importantly, it gets in the way of how he wanted this encounter to go).

Before his arousal entirely leaves him and his dick gets too sensitive, he leads Morgan over on his back again, and knows he wants him back and whatever he has to give him. His half-hard cock bobs between them, and his expression is the most relaxed he's seen it yet. His eyes are almost entirely closed, showing only slivers of blue and black beneath the eyelashes.

Eris is still being careful not to dive too deep into him all at once but it's hard when he's so hard. There's slurry moaning in his ear with every thrust, he wants to really hold him down and fuck him into the mattress and--god--his back is being dug into, his shoulder in Morgan's maw, the best-worst love-bite he's ever gotten and he can feel him coming, both by the suffocating clenching around his cock and the vibrato on his skin.

He stays still and carefully pulls away once the tension slackens. His hands firmly glide down Morgan's arms until their hands touch, where he grabs onto him with surprising force. Eris gives him a once-over; just first time post-coital clinginess, maybe. "Good?"

Morgan nods. He's all sweaty and red from forehead to chest. Even his thighs are a little pink. Ah, one of those all-over blushers? Adorable. His eyes are a little teary still, and soft, even though they're back to being all big and round. "Wha'... was that?"

"You came on me. See?" He slides a finger across the milky mess on his belly and smears it in. He already needs a bath anyway. "When you felt good, you squirted all this out. I'm impressed you did so well on your first. Some people need a few tries." He doesn't add what is, for him, the intoxicating thing about it, this feeling of sweet corruption.

Morgan may actually be older than him but with his lack of experience, and the way he looks, it feels just like introducing sex to a kid before their time... or taming a savage creature that has until now known only the hurtful wilds with pleasure.

"You've never felt anything like that, right?"

Morgan shakes his head, and sighs. His entire body collapses back into the pillows.

Eris watches every muscle-twitch, hears every warm sigh. He spends so long admiring him that his own erection softens, mostly unnoticed. He has what he wanted, after all.

"And it felt good," he whispers, right into an ear. He smiles a little to see that the flush has even spread to the tips here. "Didn't it?"

Morgan doesn't nod, or shake his head. His eyes slowly open halfway; they're still squeezed at the corners like a cat in greeting, and the dim light bouncing off his unshed tears make his irises look even colder. So much shine glitters on them. His lips barely move. More of a horizontal movement, no pooch, so Eris takes it for a yes.

"I'm so glad." May it give you strength for later. He parts from him carefully and smiles apologetically. There's semen all over his flat belly and inbetween his thighs. It's actually pretty nice to look at, the white jelly on the crusted blood, but it's not the kind of mess he'd like being saddled with. "It's late, and drawing a bath is a huge pain. If you can wait until the morning..."

A little head shake for that. His eyes briefly close again. Don't worry about it. Maybe?

Hopefully it'll be warm tomorrow. Then Morgan can get scrubbed down and he can do the laundry as well. He doesn't want to think about what's flaked off onto the sheets.

Morgan curls up in bed, watching him, as he prepares for bed, shucking off the rest of his clothes and brushing his teeth. He's too worn-out to go through his usual nighttime ritual (all the excitement and he hasn't managed two orgasms in a while), but he takes a second the admire the marks left on his back. Coming back to him is a little awkward. They lay side by side, arms touching, like friends on a sleepover.

And they don't know each other well enough to really talk. Not that there isn't a whole lot he wants to know about an immortal being. Morgan eventually curls up onto his side, with his forehead pressing against his arm, but that's probably his usual sleeping posture. Does an immortal even need to sleep? he wonders. Or is it just for comfort, or a habit to indulge? Maybe he can bring it up in the morning so he knows whether to make one breakfast or two,

He sleeps uneasily. It's been a long time since anyone has actually slept in his bed with him. And Morgan stays perfectly still, so he has to restrain himself from tossing and turning like normal. The cats scratch and cry at his door at some point in the night to be let in, which doesn't bother him but startles Morgan (which in turn startles him). He jerks up so suddenly you'd think it was a bear snuffling around instead of some spoiled house cats.

He lays a hand on his bicep. It feels completely rigid, and jerks at his touch. "It's just my cats," he says, a little incredulously.

Morgan peers around at him, owl-eyed. For a moment he looks at him like he doesn't recognize him, then the tension visibly leaves his body. His shoulders slump inward. "Cats."

"Yeah. They're sweet." He does not tell him he'd like them, because he's not sure how true that would be. His cats have never known anyone but him. Another thing to worry about in the morning. "Go back to sleep."

Morgan curls against him even tighter than before, like an on-going headbutt.


	2. solidifying

Eris wakes and almost immediately startles. He falls back into his pillows with a great whoosh of breath. "God, don't do that to me. I forgot you were here."

Morgan's dirt-smeared face had been right next to his, apparently watching him intently as he slept. He frowns a little. "Don't forget."

"Uh, yeah, I'll try." Eris rolls over onto his side to look down at him. The sunlight coming in now isn't really doing him any favors. "Why don't we get that bath going?"

He gets a pair of jeans to wear outside from his closet and pauses. There's a new smell in here, mixed with the mothballs. Faintly rank sugar. Maybe Morgan had gotten up earlier to look around. No surprise really, since he's going to be staying here now. And going by last night it figures he'd want to check things out.

Still weirds him out a little that he'd been through his _closet_. Where else? His underwear drawer? ...his porn drawer?

It's around eight in the morning, and already sunny with a warm temp to match. Only a few wispy clouds crawl across the sky. The pattern he knows, worn by the years, says it will cool off later. But right now it's a good day even to heat water he's collected, a tedious task he hates.

The garden takes care of most of his cooking needs, and he has a hunting rifle for the rest. Water is an everpresent bitch that always nags at him. He keeps three drums of water, mostly full of well water, but occasionally there's a downpour and condensation-gathering.

He's gone hungry before. It's a relatively easy thing compared to going thirsty. But it isn't just for drinking. Cooking, watering his produce, clean water for the cats. He only bathes twice a week if he can.

Usage concerns aside, it's just a hassle to prepare. Heating water takes time, especially enough for a comfortable bath. Some days he'll drag his tub out, but he is a civilized man who prefers to do his bathing with four walls around him, and that means transporting the water over inside.

It would probably make his life easier if he built a room outside for bathing, but then it would feel like bathing in the same air as his outhouse.

Morgan follows him inside and out, speaking only when spoken to. The cats hiss when he walks by, and he side-eyes them pretty hard in return. ("Why cats? Mice? Oh. Emergency rations?" "No!") He usually washes himself in moving streams. He does not have to eat or sleep, but prefers to. That's all the information Eris gets out of him--besides his dismal views about household pets.

He prepares one of his own nightshirts for him to wear after his bath. Part practical, part horny thinking. The jacket is the only salvageable thing. Better make a trip into town soon for appropriate-sized clothing, especially with winter around the bend.

Finally the water is ready. Wood is one of the best resources he has out here. His home and furniture are made primarily from it. Most of it is even made and sealed by his own hand, down to the tub from a large tree trunk. It gives his house a very typical backcountry look that he only tried to resist the first ten years or so. 

"Have you ever had hot water before?" he asks, tying his hair back. Today is not going to be a thorough wash for him.

Morgan bends his face over into the steam. "Just drinking."

"You're in for a treat, then."

His bathtub was made for himself, with a sloped side to rest his back on. But space shouldn't be an issue. He goes first, slowly, letting himself adjust. It's always worst when his junk hits the waterline--he hisses in a breath--but even that becomes comfortable in a matter of seconds.

Morgan follows, one foot dipping in and out, leaving little waves of dirt to drift in the water. The new wet skin is a pearlescent pink-white from toe to heel. He moves with a strange skittishness. Both legs tremble in the water like a fawn. Ah, that's what his face reminds him of, come to think of it. A deer in the headlights.

Eris begins washing him off, since his thighs and hips are right there at least. Morgan seems to seek out his touch. Every time even a finger brushes his skin, he feels weight lean immediately back against it.

He coaxes him down by gently pulling on his hand. Right into his lap, where they almost clasp together. The curve of Morgan's legs, and the back of his knees, fit right over his leg. His spine slopes just so to make room for his chest against it.

It goes ramrod straight when he starts washing him down though, and the muscles around it tense up. His shoulder blades pull back to allow more of a curve--away. It's different enough from how he was acting a second ago he can't help but notice. "Does having me behind you make you nervous?"

"...no."

"Oh? If you say so." This push-and-pull reaction reminds him of something in his youth. One of the kids he grew up with. Dolly. "I'm going to wash your hair now. Shield your eyes if you don't want to close them."

Morgan actually does so. His head droops forward like a rain-heavy flower, exposing his nape. Ready for biting. Mounting. Stupid. Don't think like that right now.

Brown washes off his head in foamy bubbles then waves with the rinse. Repeat until clear. Like washing Silvia when she's gotten into one of her mud puddles.

Morgan's muscles loosen and relax as the minutes pass. He keeps trying to lean back against him. 

"I told you. It's nice, isn't it?"

"Um. Yeah."

What's left still needs to be combed, but the color is coming out nuregarasu. What a rare treasure, to have not just dark hair, but that pitch-black shade with gleaming blue. It had been very in vogue when Eris was young, but he has never seen a dye with the same subtlety.

He's so increasingly perfect in every way that Eris is momentarily at a loss to express his admiration. "It's like you were made for me." 

Morgan squeezes his knee.

As he's drying him off, he sees even clearer what a baby-face he has. A soft oval jaw, with a tender morsel of a mouth. His two stronger features (thick but well-shaped eyebrows and a nobly pointed nose) actually add to the overall sweetness by contrast.

He moves down from face to body in lingering rubs, the better to appreciate this wonderful object he has finally obtained. The lower he goes, the more, he notes with a sense of mischief, Morgan's body responds. He's got a bit of chub. When he looks up, Morgan is looking fixedly away from him, either embarrassed or indifferent.

Not too indifferent, if so. He gently wipes water from under the testes up to under the shaft, and hears a small inhale of breath above. "Let's play together a little more after breakfast. I'll get to show you what I really want from you."

Morgan wears the button-down shirt he gives him. It's mid-thigh length and unbuttoned enough that it could hang off one shoulder. Eris watches with mixed amusement and disappointment as Morgan methodically buttons it all the way up.

It's been a long time since he's last cooked for anyone but himself. He fears he's gotten awfully lazy with it; it's not an interest of his, and after a few hundred years, it's hard for him to think of it as anything but a means to keep himself alive. Hopefully scrambled eggs and salted meat will serve.

"Are you picky at all?" he asks absently. His stove is wood-burning and for some reason his logs tend to light capriciously. But today all of his stars have aligned, and the flame catches and keeps steadily on. "Any allergies?"

"No. No."

"Tea or water?"

"Yes."

Either? Maybe black tea to wash out the sodium.

They eat together in the kitchen, knees touching under the one-man table. The sun is out in full force now, lighting up the whole area in gold. Morgan looks like an adorable little boy in Eris' nightshirt. Like a piece of jailbait eating breakfast the morn after spending the night at an illicit lover's before heading to school.

Until he ferociously tucks into his meal, his upper body leaning over his plate. The hand he doesn't eat with hovers close to his side, ready to push or block. It excites him more, though this time in a more intellectual sense than a physical one. What kind of life has this half-wild little boy led? How?

"So you remember up to three hundred years ago..."

Morgan barely acknowledges him with a glance.

"But you were already immortal by then, right?"

"Mhm."

"You don't remember when it actually happened? Or what caused it?" Eris had been about nine during the time in question. He speculates that Morgan is likely older than himself, perhaps even by a great deal if the only reason he can't remember is time.

But he seems to prefer licking the grease off his plate to answering. Maybe that's an answer in itself.

A short pause occurs, awkward at least for Eris. Once Morgan is finished he looks at him, _into_ him, eyes slightly squinted in focus. The expression causes a frisson down his back. Even this look suits him.

"Last night. You've done that before?"

"Yeah. Tons."

His upper lip purses slightly. "Hurt them?"

"Well--a little, sometimes. But less than I want to. Less than I would with you."

"Why?"

"Because... I'm not a murderer." One corner of his mouth lifts in dry self-deprecation. "A hebephile, admittedly. But I've only been with adult men. I'd never touch an actual child."

Morgan takes his cup of tea and leans against the back of the seat. His eyes keep boring into him as he drinks, looking lovelier and lovelier. The hot water makes his cheeks pink. "That's why you want me. You can't kill me. And I'm not what I look like."

"Yes! Exactly."

"So you won't... need anyone else."

"Just you," Eris agrees.

Morgan's eyes soften. His lowered cup reveals his lips, red with blood and warmth, _smiling_. "I can really stay here."

"Of course." What else, kick him out of the house between fucking and beating him? Especially since a place to stay seems to be the only thing he wants in return. "You're even pretty the way I like. Absolutely perfect."

His lips mouth the word 'perfect'. "Just like you."

Eris chuckles on a mouthful of egg. "How so?"

"I am for you."

He is perfect for Morgan... because Morgan is perfect for him? That's either really romantic or really sad. Probably sad. He's not much for romance. It's just a show of how socially-starved the poor thing has been. "I'd call it fate, if I believed in it."

His mind whirs as he finishes eating and sets the dishes aside for washing. Black tea lingers in the back of his throat. Where to start? Slowly. Mild, even. Borderline vanilla. Less chance of scaring him off. Just like regular sex.

You introduce the basic concept, and build from that.

"I just--just wanna hit you," he says thickly, throat clogged with anticipation. Morgan allows him to take him by the elbow, and steer him into the living room. "Nothing too serious. Not for a boy who can gut himself."

Just wanna feel your skin under my knuckles. Just wanna see it blossom in paint spatters of color. It's the perfect canvas.

Still, he hesitates. Not exactly hating this interest of his, but always having to repress and watch out for it, makes it harder to do what he wants. Even with all the scenarios he's envisaged. Whatever he knows mentally, in his heart he doubts whether it's really alright.

"I don't mind," Morgan says, reading his mind or just between the lines. His head falls back a little to look up at him. "You can do whatever you want to me."

Eris kisses him hard on the offered forehead.

He feels like he's manipulating a doll as he positions Morgan into the classic spanking position. Hands on the armest, butt out, feet kicked out wider and wider, a little more than shoulder-length apart. His shirt looks amazing draped over his rounded ass. The hem dances tantalizingly against the thighs.

He puts his hands on the small of Morgan's back and drags them up, the shirt dragging with. It raises over his upper thighs, the delicate crease where they meet his butt, then the butt itself. He wasn't really able to see it last night, for all that he was playing with it. It's small, as per his general frame, but soft, and as juicy-looking as it had felt. The shallowest of Venus dimples grace it.

The first smack comes before he is almost even aware. Crack! and the left buttcheek jiggles and red does not spread so much as evaporate onto it. Crack! on the other cheek (slightly off-center from his off-hand) and crack! crack! crack! he goes, until his palms smart. They, at least, are callused from gardening and yard work. Morgan does not make a single noise but it must be worse for him. Perhaps, even if it hurts a great deal, he is used to it. 

"I love you," he says, between gasps of exertion and excitement, dressing down his thighs now. "I love your body. I love what you are." Finally, finally--

He buries his knuckles into the long muscle at the back of his leg and Morgan makes his first noise. A high, stifled gasp. His teeth click together.

Eris pauses a moment to catch his breath, god what beauty. Feverish red, already setting in purple in a line of dots where he had most intimately struck him. Yet, as he keeps watching, the outer edges fade to pink, and back to his regular skin tone. Even the bruises disappear, and once again, he is given a fresh canvas.

It took only a few minutes. Honestly a little fast for his liking--it'll be hard to do a number on him with any kind of subtlety without it healing on the way. Even his gutted stomach, he recalls, only took as long.

His palms still hurt. He'll need to go about making some tools.

"Turn around," he says, and Morgan turns, butt resting easily against the armrest. His eyes are slightly watery; just a sheen of tears. But he still smiles when he looks at him. "I'm going to... be very mean with you. We're not playing any games, so you want me to stop, just say so."

"If I say no, you won't need me anymore."

Eris nods helplessly. It'd be ideal if he could have what he wants without hurting anyone at all. But that simply won't happen. "Hold tight."

He uses his knuckles to mark him, thighs first as they are the fleshiest. One good hard punch in the gut; Morgan grabs his elbow for balance, wheezes, but does not try to push away even though the blows travel up, against his delicate ribs (something gives) and his thin chest. He just holds on.

Eris takes the hand grasping onto him, kisses the back of it, and the arm is so skinny he thought it would snap right in twain. It's surprisingly resistant, however, and though he feels his knuckles dig in almost to the marrow, they spring back up. His bicep is more vulnerable. It seizes, and Morgan cries out loud and clear, no muffling here. 

Tell me to stop. Why are you letting me do this to you? Tell me to stop, because your face, your face is--

He aims more for the cheek than the nose. They just washed up, after all. 

It feels great. Like smashing his hand into angel food cake. His entire arm is thrumming with energy, pain, blood racing from his heart to the tips of his fingers. Morgan loses his balance and falls back into the couch. His eyes squeeze shut, either against the pain, or his vulnerability. His shirt rides up against his collarbone, and his ass is in the air for him. The air reeks of burned sugar. He could fuck him again. Fuck him while beating him? Sure. Just grab onto his legs--like so-- and--

There's a knock at the door.

He stops, heart bursting for a single second. Probably someone lost, or in need of a little shelter, right? Rare, but it happens. What, had he thought it was the police who magically knew what he was up to way out here?

"Go sit in my room. At least until you heal up."

He looks himself over, no blood, nothing questionable. If he had a hard-on he doesn't now.

He meets a hunter at the door. A newbie, by the look of him; young, unsure in his regalia. His coat is too large for his shoulders. He seems surprised that anyone answered. Under regular circumstances, a house out here _would_ be empty. 

"Can I help you...?"

"Um," the young man starts, staring him now full in the face. In the eyes. His complexion worsens beneath the sweat and exertion flooding his face, making his skin blotchy. Whatever happens next has been a good fifty-fifty, whether they are desperate or not. The young man decides to his credit to keep speaking. "I was separated from my group a few nights ago during a storm. The river here..."

"Leads to Dawson. Are you from there?"

"Yes!" he says quickly, excitement lighting his eyes.

"Follow it south. Forty miles."

"Ah, thank you! But it's just, well..."

His stomach growls with perfect comedic timing. He laughs awkwardly.

At any other time Eris might laugh as well. It'd be easy to do that and say, come in, I'll make you a pack, just keep this hush-hush, okay? Right now he's tempted just to do that last bit and send him on his way. 

Maybe he's overreacting. Morgan is skittish. He's not going to want to come out to meet a stranger. He'll just stay in his room and no problem.

He's so intent on thinking this that at first it doesn't register when he feels his arm being pulled open to make room by his side. A warm body presses itself to his, and just as he realizes, sure enough, the young man's eyes pass over and stop. He can't imagine what he sees.

"Actually--" the young man says, darting now back and forth between them. "--I should--"

"Go," Eris finishes for him. His voice doesn't feel like it's coming out of his throat. "Before it gets late. Sure."

The young man almost trips over his own feet scurrying down the steps. He looks back once, fearfully and quick, like he thinks they might come after him. Eris watches him long enough to be sure he's at least going the right way, sighs, and yanks Morgan inside with him.

"What the _hell_ was that?" he hisses, spinning him around to look him in the face. It's even worse than he thought; puffy black and blue, all up the left side from temple to jaw. His arm has obvious dots all over it. "Are you trying to get me run out of here? I told you to wait."

Morgan pulls his shoulder away. He doesn't make any particular expression but the sudden blankness of it screams sullen. "You're mad. Why?"

Eris pauses a moment, wishing for patience. Maybe he really doesn't get it. "This is my home. If I freak people out--and they decide to do something--I'll have to leave." He reaches out for him, pressing one hot swollen cheek against his palm. "You understand, right? What even brought you up here?"

"You were going to let him in," he mumbles. "I was just... scared. For you. What if it was someone bad?"

"Oh, sweetling." He kisses him on the tip of his nose to hide a smile. "Was me beating a little boy going to scare him off if he was? I've never had a problem the entire time I've lived here. So don't be worried about me, okay?"

"What if he tells someone?"

"It's a risk. But," he adds, drawing himself up, "my master always told me to do good for others where you can. Most people don't want to mess with witches anyway."

Morgan frowns. "What if?" he insists with emphasis, eyebrows lowering.

"Then... I'll have you to save me, won't I?"

It was a tongue-in-cheek answer, but Morgan brightens like a lightbulb. His smile makes him look natural, like he isn't what he is. "You will!"


	3. oral fixation

Morgan leaves for the rest of the morning in some borrowed clothing, and doesn't return until early evening. To get the lay of the land, he claims--'since I have to protect you'. It's a little weird. There's nothing remarkable nearby but the river, and how much of that can you look at? Eris lets him go, though. His blood has cooled enough that he's not in the mood for fun, and a kid like that probably won't feel secure until he knows every inch of land around him. He has laundry to get to now anyway.

When Morgan finally staggers back in, he's back to looking like he rolled in a pile of leaves.

Eris groans and wipes him down with a wet rag. "What the hell did you do, get in a fight with a mouse?" 

Morgan appears to seriously consider the question. "Don't have to fight mice. Their backs break easy."

His nose wrinkles. "Then what?"

"I tripped."

He turns his hands over to check for scraping before remembering they wouldn't show by now. They are so small and warm in his; his fingers close over the palms. "You're clumsier than I thought. Do the animals bother you at all?"

"Not unless I'm hungry."

"Unless you start it, you mean." At least Morgan smells nice from his excursion. Fresh and woodsy, on top that base of scorched sugar. He'd never thought magic could have such a smell. "Your magic smells strange even to me. They must hate it."

It's only a theory, but the only other thing he can think of is that animals are capable of sensing magic in a more innate way. General witch wisdom as he's learned it is that animals rabid with the sick and felines are most sensitive, in opposite directions--repulsing and attracting. It's been true in his experience, whatever the exact reason.

Morgan's upper lip curls for a single instant, flashing the canines he'd snarled at him with last night. "You **smell** it?"

"You don't mine?"

His hands jerk out of his. The stillness of his face is obviously forced now. Tension rolls along his clenching jaw before he turns his face away.

Then he's back out the door.

What a troublesome kid, Eris muses. At least he can see him sitting out on the porch, so he hasn't strayed off again. He looks like a kid who's parents locked him out, swamped in the too-large shirt and trousers. Probably one of those self-hating types. Many witches grow up feeling that way until a master takes them in. Without one to have taught him to take pride in his abilities... well, he'll just keep the subject off the table for now. It's been too long since he was that stage of development, if not age. He should have known to be more sensitive.

Once dinner is done he feels a little awkward about calling him in, especially to one of his paltry meals. But all must be forgotten, or at least forgiven. Morgan comes back to him the second he opens the door.

Silvia mrowls from her perch by the windowsill. Her tail audibly beats against the pane.

Dinner is even quieter than breakfast was. Morgan hasn't been inclined thus far to discuss himself, and Eris can't honestly say he's any different. The only sound is him occasionally shooing a cat out of the room. 

It shouldn't be a problem. All he wants him for is the sex and beatings, after all. There's no need for them to be friends. But that's different from being friend _ly_ and that much, he would like.

There's one option, something that has always worked pretty well for him in resetting the atmosphere. The more he contemplates it the more the tension from the earlier scare leaves his body.

They haven't talked about last night. Another bad habit of his, doubtless, caused by his years of cheap flings. And of course the one he devirginized would wait for his lead. Ugh. He's gotten more unsociable than he thought. Another reason to go back to brass tacks.

He decides not to mention it until they're in bed together. For now they have their first settling-in to go through. The curtains are drawn, the dishes soaked and washed, the water bowel for the cats refilled. He shows Morgan to the tooth-brushing implements (not that he's likely to need them, but it'll get the food out of his mouth), and maybe it's a sign of how far gone he is, but even that domestic sight is adorable. That he's still wearing his shirt helps.

The hallway leading off from the living room leads to his own bedroom, and a guestroom. The walk down it is so awkward it's like they haven't already fucked. Morgan's hand slips into his.

"Are we going to have sex again?"

Eris' heart skips a beat. There's an uncertain wanting underneath Morgan's clinical phrasing. He can almost feel his vocal cords tremble. "Do you want to?"

"Yes."

The strangeness of the mood dissipates. The door opens easily into his room, so unlike every other room in the house. A musky orange scent hangs in the air. The cold wooden flooring gives way to rich rugs. The four poster bed he saved a whole year to buy instead of making. In general he does not miss regular society, but he likes its sensual comforts.

"Do you _really_ want to?" he teases.

"I do." Morgan's face and voice are equally forthright. Modesty would befit his youthful face more, but there's a charm to this as well. He even lays himself on the bed on his own. His tiny toes spread out on the comforter. 

"Really really?" Eris follows slowly, one knee then one hand at a time, until he's on all fours on top of him. As cute as Morgan looks in his clothes, he wishes he'd undressed him a little. He looks more like a kid playing dress-up in his daddy's closet than sexy.

"Yes," Morgan repeats, slightly rougher with impatience. The eager little thing even starts to strip by yanking his shirt up. Eris allows it so he can watch. Again, it's not the reaction he personally finds appealing, but in the end this boldness suits Morgan's feral personality more. Now that sex has become a 'safe' thing for him, of course he wouldn't tiptoe around it.

The shirt gets tossed over the side. His nipples are what Eris typically imagines a young boy's are like, soft and flat. Looking him over again, his chest and torso have a lightly defined musculature. Closer to fourteen than thirteen, he decides. Just starting to develop.

"How do you like this?" He rubs his thumb gently against one, fingers fanning over the latissimus dorsi. Nipple-play doesn't do much for him personally, but he's known men who can come from it.

Morgan pauses expectantly, face blank. "Is this sex too?"

"Yeah. Well, foreplay." It's hardening up pretty good from the aureola; not quite the proverbial pencil-eraser size but big enough to tempt a pinch. He gives in. It stays mostly pink. Only a faint wash of red separates it from its twin. "No good?"

"It's fine, but..." His hands are on the waistband of his trousers, obviously ready to move on. Come on, you have to put a little time into it. _One_ of us has to be into this, damn it.

It is almost desperately he presses his mouth to it, taking the little bud inside his mouth and sucking. Finally he gets a reaction he likes, an almost mewling sound and a sudden grab at his shoulder. His other hand goes lower as he slavers to find the belt that had to be pulled so tight to keep them up. It’s an old one, worn and creased, familiar to him even on another body. No need for two hands to undo it. Morgan’s back arches, like the little trollop wants him even closer, but it’s a convenient time to yank down at his pants. They only make it to his knees, but that’s as far as he needs them.

“Good?” he breathes. The sweet little cherry is hard in a plastering of spit. It seems to tremble along with each shaky exhale. It’s almost the same color as Morgan’s cheeks.

“How?” The same wondering expression as last night. “It’s just my chest, so how...”

Eris strokes over the roundest part of his cheek, right below the delicate shallow flesh beneath his lower eyelid. “You’re made for me, remember?” he says teasingly. “Of course I can make you feel nice.” Sounds nicer than repeating the fact he’s slept around a lot. 

If he slipped just a little closer, he could jam his thumb into his eyesocket and finger-fuck it. In a sense, wouldn’t that be like Morgan taking _his_ virginity? He’s spanked guys aplenty before, walloped a few of them pretty good if they begged him for it but doing something like that, normally so irreversibly harmful, would be an intimate act just between the two of them. Something only they could share together. He wonders if the idea would please Morgan, or mean anything at all.

Morgan’s eyes squeeze half-shut. “You’re made for me, too,” he says in a voice low and thick like honey. “Because you love what I am.”

Eris has never willingly kissed a man on the mouth, but he does so now without thought. His lips are so soft and full! Nothing at all like a man’s, truly a little boy through and through. Even the taste of him is fresher, and no scruff irritates his chin. Morgan withdraws for an instant with an adorably confounded sound (still ticklish, perhaps), tongue retreating, but it only spurs him on more. Morgan could bite his tongue off if he wanted to, but he trusts so thoroughly in his appearance that it barely crosses his mind. Just a boy.

Morgan goes into a coughing fit when he finally withdraws, gasping for air. “That was a slug!”

Eris laughs despite himself. He shouldn’t, but he keeps surprising him. “That was a kiss.”

Morgan taps his upper lip with his pinky. “With your mouth.”

“Hm? Oh. That’s how kids or friends kiss. Tongue is for...” What explanation would he best understand? “When you love someone. Lovers.”

“Like us.” Maybe it’s his imagination, but he seems to preen a little.

“Lovers,” Eris agrees. His fingers travel the soft crease of his hip bone leading to his groin. Like a fading baby-fatty Adonis belt. "Let me show you another way I can make you feel good."

He reaches over to the bedside table for his lube then scoots down to lay between his knees. Morgan gives his hair a final stroke before he's out of range, then sits up against the pillows to watch, mouth pursed. So cute how wary he looks. Like he can't trust anything he hasn't already experienced. 

Not giving his hard-on any trouble. Eris hooks his fingers into his underwear and slowly pulls it down over his thighs. It pops right up, even harder than when he was fucking him. Still a maybe-fourteen-year-old's cock so smaller than average, but the skin is smooth and tight, even across his balls. He squirts a dollop onto his fingers and slides them against Morgan's perineum to firmly hold against his anus. His thigh muscles visibly tense.

The soft, bubblegum pink glans he sucks into his mouth. Morgan moans and jerks against him but thankfully his cock just shoots along his tongue. Even the taste is vastly different from a grown man! Less heavy and scented. Something to do with hormones maybe, combined with his personal body odor. And the texture--almost like a marshmallow.

All he has to do is suck and keep his throat clear. Morgan is doing all the thrusting for him, and his mouth has been used before by larger men. He thinks for a moment he doesn't notice when he slips a finger inside but his mouth is flooded seconds after he starts tapping on his prostate. It doesn't taste half as objectionable as every other load he's had. Thinner, and almost sweet.

"You taste _amazing_ , babycakes." He sits up, and surveys with satisfaction Morgan's deeply breathing chest and hazy expression. His cock is soaked in saliva but otherwise squeaky-clean. Not a drop of semen on the velvety head. "I could drink that every day."

"I'd let you," Morgan says, which sounds like a jokey flirting thing to say, or a wisecrack, but he hasn't seen much evidence of a sense of humor yet. That he means it is pretty hot though. "That was the good stuff again. It _felt_ good."

"You came." 

"I've been here." 

Eris rolls his eyes. "Orgasmed, then. Ejaculated. You know what semen--this stuff--is, right?"

He shakes his head. His chin juts out a little, like he'd prefer not to admit it.

"I'll give you a health lesson later. For now..." He gives himself a tug, and even just the feel of his own hand is making his cock throb. "You wanna return the favor? Help me feel good?"

Morgan nods seriously. "With my mouth? Is it hard?"

'It' is, part of him wants to blurt. With any other guy it'd probably get him a pillow to the face at worst, but he doubts Morgan would get the innuendo. "I'm not sure how much I can even fit, but it's basically like anything else we've done. We can start slow."

They shuffle around, taking each other's places, clothes landing on the floor. As much as he'd love to sit on the kid's chest and fuck his throat, it's not like they don't have all the time in the world. And while Morgan will probably still blow him even with a harsh introduction, as acquiescent as he's been, attitude makes a world of difference. Better to have him eager to please than dutiful.

Morgan lays on his stomach between his legs. The sight of his pink-cheeked face looking so sweet and clean next to his cock instills a mixed feeling of disappointment and guilt inside him; not a kid, in the end, but a very convincing look-alike. That should make it a little easier to imagine completely wrecking his face in jizz and spit, but his arousal feels like a suddenly unpleasant punch in the gut. The main question to ask himself with is whether it's going to stop him. Will it? No. He doesn't feel that bad. Just enough to feel like a heel.

Over three hundred years old. Just remember that.

Morgan's fingers are thin though, without an adult's defined knuckles. One hand rests lightly on Eris' hip, the other strokes in uncertain movements against his perineum. "Here too?" Even his breath is airy, and dead inflection aside, matches his voice. Don't pay attention either to the way his lips stay slightly parted after he finishes speaking, pooching them out just enough to see the gleam of a tooth inside. God, but he's gorgeous.

Eris touches his forehead to brush some hair to the side. It still has that baby softness to it. "I don't mind it. But I think you'll have your hands full with your mouth. So to speak. And try not to scrape your teeth." A little is actually fine by him, but there's a difference between doing something intentionally and doing it on accident.

Morgan nods again, and slides his fingers over to grasp the base of his cock. His eyes cross to look at it, looking for a moment like a very dour-faced Siamese. "It's moving."

"You're just feeling the blood coursing. That's what makes it stand up."

"It smells funny."

"That happens when you're an adult."

He kisses the slit (a dollop of pre-come smears across his lips like lip balm) and slowly descends his mouth over the glans. It's like being in his ass but even smaller--Morgan only makes it as far as his circumcision scar, and only by bobbing his head a little. The tight grasp of his throat nudges against his cock, practically daring him to just thrust his hips. His baby mouth feels even better than he thought. 

Eris relaxes into his pillows and closes his eyes. Feel and listen to his sucking mouth. Smell the scents hanging in the air, combined into a slightly burnt sugared-orange. The knot in his gut loosens by degrees into a more pleasant tension. It's warming up. Every time Morgan pops off his knob to catch his breath, the wash of air and minute sticky strands make him jump. Should he let himself come? Where? His crow-feathered hair, all over his face? Make him swallow it? Or...

"Hold up, babe." He gently catches a handful of Morgan's hair and tugs to prompt him up. "I'm gonna fuck you... I mean, I want inside you."

Morgan's eyes light up. So bright against his otherwise blank face. "Will you? I want that too."

So CUTE. The same urge he gets to squish kittens with love comes over him in a wave. He yanks him up under the arms, then flips him over and rubs his cheek against his with bruising force. Morgan makes a disgruntled noise but his hands find their way into his hair.

Eris searches around for the lube bottle with his foot, kicks it (hopefully he shut it earlier), snatches it up from between his legs.

Slather some on right quick and _push_ , bit by bit. It's almost as slow going as the first time; Morgan is just so small, and his ass probably won't hold a stretch. If so, at least he'll always feel this tight, though it'll make spontaneity difficult. Morgan's soft sighing noises in his ear take any tedium out of it, and this time, he feels him pushing his body back against him. Not just his ass, sweet as it is, but his thighs squeeze on his sides, and his feet press down on the small of his back, trying to get him closer and deeper all without direction.

His back stings. What little nail Morgan has is being dug into the meat of his shoulder. Ten separate little crescent moons like a constellation across his back. It almost eclipses the feeling of finally hilting himself. Balls deep, just like he wishes he had been in his mouth. He remembers the choked noises he made, the hurried sounds to catch his breath. "Can I choke you?"

A flicker of some look (disappointment?) passes Morgan's face, but he obediently throws his head back as far as he can to bare his neck. The column of flesh is more satin than marble. The adam's apple is barely developed. Collapsible. "Whatever you want. But if you kill me..."

His mouth dries. "Is it possible to go that far? Even temporarily?"

"I don't 'die'. Don't stay that way. I'll come back. Not sure how long. Longer than just healing."

Eris glances his fingers over the carotid artery. Blood thumps against the thin barrier of skin. "So enough damage at once can kill you?"

"No. But yes."

So it's fine. He's never attempted breathplay in his regular life--there's no way of doing that feels safe enough--and the idea of having a dead body on his bed for even a short while is unnerving. Strangulation is such a prolonged thing from his understanding that Morgan will probably heal along the way and faint at worst. Brain death in a normal person, or cardiac arrest, but the first won't be a problem here, and even if the latter does, still no permanent damage.

His thumbs cross over the front of Morgan's throat as he begins to thrust. It takes a lot of willpower to keep his hands on. What little he knows about this kind of thing says you never put pressure on the larynx, and playing by the rules in BDSM is second nature to him by now. It doesn't matter that he is, but it feels wrong. 

Morgan's expression is beautiful enough to distract him. The way his eyebrows scrunch together, and the timing of his stifled gasps with every push, every creak of the bed. The noise runs together. Pained tears glimmer in his eyelashes. Red fills the shallow skin beneath his eyes. Maybe from the compression.

He leans his weight onto his hands to fuck him faster, faster, harder, until the mattress is continually squeaking. Morgan grabs onto his arm but does not try to push him off. How much must it cost him to stay still and allow this to be done to him? They are both working against instinct right now. 

Morgan's cock between their bellies is wet, soft. Poor thing had wanted him to fuck him, and he's taking all the pleasure out of it for him. It's exciting though. All the pleasure, just for him, this pretty boy's body for him to ravage and beat himself against. His grip is so tight he doesn't feel any difference but he's probably fucking up his throat pretty hard. God. Gotta mouthfuck him next time, make him choke on _that_. Pull his teeth out so he doesn't scrape.

Morgan's eyes go hazy and red at the corners. The instant his hand falls off and awkwardly splays to the side, Eris comes. His fingers tighten and loosen with each wave. The cartilage? bone? whatever's in there feels pulpy and ramshackle. Really collapsed. The whole area is bright red with blood pooling beneath the skin, broken veins. Some of it is already turning purple where his fingers pressed in the deepest.

He is not dead, even just for now. The sound of it is awfully hoarse but he's still breathing. It takes about fifteen minutes before he starts to come back. His eyelids flutter and his fingers twitch. Still no awareness in his eyes. But that alone is a great relief. Eris hasn't done anything to truly hurt him. Much less kill him. 

The air reeks of sugar. So much magic in the air, coming off this little boy, enough to choke on. More than he's ever felt off one person before.

He cleans him up, mostly to give himself something to do besides wait. Blood has dried in his ears. Semen between his legs. He'll have to think of a way to protect the sheets or somewhere else to do this so he won't be doing laundry every day when things get bloodier. Another five minutes and Morgan gasps like he'd been dunked in cold water.

"What happens when you're gone?" Eris asks, sitting on his knees at the bedside. "Do you go anywhere?"

Morgan turns his eyes like it requires great effort. His expression and voice are particularly flat. "Nothing. Nothing at all."

Eris helps him ready for bed. When all the essentials are out of the way, he sits him at his vanity and brushes his hair. It helps him feel better when he feels like a zombie, and the poor dear looks like one at the moment. Pain is pain, dying is dying, whether you consent or not. He must be in shock. His eyes are still wet.

"You did very well," Eris tells him, moving on to the comb, fixing every hair in place. "I could never do that with anyone else."

Morgan's eyes slowly close and open in acknowledgement. 

He cuddles tightly to his side again in bed. The mood is a little more natural than last night. They kiss goodnight, just lips, until Morgan sticks his tongue in his mouth. Mint and ripe red tongue. "I did good?" he whispers after, peering up into his face. His eyes looks grey in the shadows.

Eris kisses him again, and holds him close, even though he's warm and trapping him to the edge of the bed. Morgan deserves this much. Sleep comes quickly.

The veil pulls away a little past midnight. His head is foggy. A mouth on his, fingers working his flaccid dick. He feels a little irritated. It had been a good, deep sleep. The kind where you wake up drooling on your pillow. He pulls his face away and grabs the hand invading his space. 

"Sorry, not in the mood." It comes out in a sleep-garbled grumble, but Morgan stops. "You can work on yourself if you want. I'm not one of those types who care."

He creaks his eyelids open. Morgan. Can't see what his face looks like. His eyeballs don't feel like they're cooperating. 

Morgan's voice sounds like normal. Dispassionate. Has he been to bed yet? "We're lovers."

He blindly searches for his cheek in the dark so he can cup it. It doesn't feel sleepy-warm. He's probably been up for a while. "Sorry sex today wasn't that great for you. But it'll be like that sometimes. And seriously, I don't mind you masturbating." Another wave of annoyance washes over him. Forgot who he was talking to. Morgan didn't even know what sex was, what would he know about touching himself? "It's not hard to figure out. I'll show you tomorrow, just..."

He can almost feel his irises expanding as his night vision settles in. The moonlight is limning Morgan's hair and facial features in silvery blue, revealing an impression of his half-closed eyes, and tightly pressed lips. "I don't want to without you. Please." His mouth moves, purses, then tightens again with one canine sticking out. It digs steadily, deliberately, Eris realizes, into his bottom lip until a spot of black wells up. It stirs something in him, but it's just not enough. "Don't you want to hurt me?"

"Of course." The dot swells bigger until it finally breaks and runs down his lip and chin, where it finally looks red. "But I have to sleep. In the morning, okay? The morning..."

His mouth and the heady taste of copper descends on his, penetrating his mouth. He allows the kiss but can't put much into it. Morgan had been adorably clingy before. This is a little concerning. But it's only the second night, and they still have a lot to learn about each other. He just needs to be socialized. Like a kitten. 

"I love you," Morgan says in his ear, almost too thickly to be a whisper. "I'll see you tomorrow."

"Yeah." Ignore the first part, and how seriously he said it. He always sounds serious and what does he know about love? Even if he has some misguided idea... he'll see in time all they have is an exchange of goods and services. His amazing body for a place to stay and someone who won't hate him. "Me too."

Morgan makes a satisfied noise and finally settles down, allows _him_ to settle down. His forehead presses into his arm again. The pressure makes him uneasy. Almost an hour passes before the uncomfortable sinking feeling in his stomach allows him to start drifting off. A vague sense of relief fills him. Things always look bad at night. Morning will be easier.


	4. outside

He stretches, just on the verge of realizing he's awake before something comes down on his mouth, sealing it. Soft, wet. His heart leaps into his throat simultaneously as the subconscious knowledge that he is being kissed, and has his hands jerked up to push off before realizing he knows who it is.

No problem.

"It's morning." Morgan barely stops kissing him to say it. The words flow right into his mouth.

"So I gathered," Eris says right back into his mouth. He relaxes his forehead and tries to settle down. It's a clumsy kiss, one that keeps bumping teeth and noses, but genuine. Every aspect of it says 'I desire you', his fingers clenching in his hair, the (strangled) half-breaths and drool slickening their mouths. It's a kiss that is actively seeking him out. To be pursued like this is nice, but they have something to discuss, don't they, before things move too far along.

He slows a little in preparation to turn his head, but just the hesitation Morgan takes as a signal to lean over, grab the lube bottle (poor thing is looking a tad pinched)--

"Morgan, wait, wait."

"It's morning," Morgan repeats, and god, it's hard to think so early and his hands are already on his cock. The shock of the cool lube turns his morning chub into a full-fledged erection. It'd be a simple thing to give in and let everything else be. Does it really matter if he has some misplaced crush on him?

He reluctantly decides he should at least try. The thought that he might upset him into leaving occurs to him, but he took this chance before when he told him he wanted to beat him. And if that didn't scare him off, no reason this should... but feelings can hurt so much more than anything physical, can't they?

"I know--we just need to talk for a second."

Morgan actually, literally huffs at him, like this small obstacle on his way to getting dicked is a grand display of unfairness. "Talk."

He looks so annoyed. Eris could just smooch his cheeks and listen to him growl like Thia does when she doesn't want to cuddle. Smooch him right into being wanting again, warm him back up. "You know we're just lovers... in the physical sense, right?"

"Just?"

"Sex." He finds his waist beneath the blankets and holds on. His thumbs rub soothingly into the skin, feverish-hot with sleepy heat. "That's all this is. The way you were last night... I thought you might think this is more."

"More. What's more?"

"Like... a relationship. Romance."

"I don't care," Morgan says, his mouth on his, hands pulling at his hair, before Eris can figure whether he means it. "All I want is to be with you." His ass rubs against his hard-on, back and forth, before he finally gets the positioning right and penetrates himself on it.

Well... he's said his piece, right? Right-o.

"I want to teach you how to jerk it instead of using me." He takes his hands, leads them down where he wants them, but Morgan's fingers stay clasped on. "All you gotta do is use your hands on yourself like you did on me."

Morgan frowns, less than enthused, but maybe he knows how to make it more appealing. "Besides helping you take care of yourself, I think it's really sexy to watch. Especially on you."

"You like to watch?"

"Um. Sometimes it sets the mood." He's more interested in watching a recently-debauched virgin discover his own body than something so familiar as a lazy jerk-off to throw a metaphorical lure. Sleeping through the night will be a nice plus.

Morgan’s eyelids lower as he leans forward just a little, thighs straining slightly on his to support his weight. Watch, then, he says, too dead-toned still to sound sultry, to match his eyes, and begins handling himself like it means nothing at all. His left hand strokes his cock in short, mechanical movements, right taps lazily against his inner thigh. What’s probably keeping him hard is the way his ass still keeps squeezing around his cock, like he’s still just imagining getting fucked, but hell, what a view.

He looks too young and innocent for where he is, what he’s doing. Who knows how many years alone and it had never occurred to him to touch himself like this. Too wild. Illicitly beautiful the curve of his belly, his lean hand working himself without any embarrassment. 

“See? Doesn’t it feel good?”

“Rather have you,” Morgan answers pettishly. He stares him full-on in the face, not a single beat missed. It’s kind of admirable. It’s the kind of thing Eris has always felt a little silly doing, especially on the outset. 

“You should know how to take care of yourself. I’m allowing you a handicap today since it’s your first time, but you can’t count on always having my dick.”

“If I can’t have you then I’ll just wait.”

Incorrigible. “Well, who knows? If you can give me a good show, maybe I’d be inspired to action.”

Morgan pauses. The idea and its consequences visibly flits through his head. Most people call that kind of thing ‘seduction’ though he can’t imagine this kid really getting the idea of it. More like bartering. “This will make you want me?”

“Be worth a shot. Wouldn’t it?”

Continues, back and forth, squeezing on and off. The dry rubbing sound of his palm is melting into something wet. A faint bitter smell pervades the air, nearly lost beneath the burned-sugar layer that has now become familiar to the point of imperceptibility. It’s only the arising of another scent now that brings it out by point of contrast. Still, Eris feels more than sees (or smells) when Morgan starts to get close. His ass starts wriggling back and forth on him along with the constant squeezing. It’s too bad he doesn’t look as cute as he can be; he must need an actual fucking to get him all pretty and flushed.

C’mon, babe, he cajoles, eyes eating up what there is for him to see, every little bead of sweat, like every little bead of pre-come, the falling open of his bottom lip. Stroke it for me, let me see--

“Please, please touch me,” Morgan mumbles, head falling all the way forward, stroking faster, faster. “Eris, please. I can’t.”

“Keep it up, you can do it.” He strokes his leg in consolation. Is it scary, he wonders. He’s come a few times so far, but it’s different bringing yourself over by your own hand, compared to being brought over. Especially for a first-timer. “You look so good.”

Morgan squeezes his eyes tight, wrinkling the bridge of his nose, and raggedly whimpers his way through unloading his barely pubescent baby-come all over his hands. The sight takes much precedence at the moment to any feel of him though he is squeezing and rubbing as much as any boy-lover might wish, absolutely filthy and beautiful, down to the focused scrunch of his eyebrows. 

They breathe together, letting the moment pass. He shakes his head, setting off an array of blue glimmers in his hair. “Like that?” he asks, in the same as usual, if quieter, tone of voice.

“What a good boy!” Eris enthuses, rubbing down his trembling thighs. “A good, good boy—I think I’m in the mood because of your excellent work. Might be uncomfortable since you just came but you’ll deal for me, won’t you?”

Morgan smiles briefly, glancing at him before lowering his eyes again. “My legs hurt.”

“First time on top,” Eris says knowingly. “Let’s switch and I’ll take care of you.”

He cradles him with one arm around his back and slowly turns them over, one careful body part at a time, still connected as they were. Even though he’s flaccid, just-spent, Morgan’s face softens beyond what it did when he was ‘just’ jerking off.

Despite his words he's careful of his likely sensitivity and goes slow and steady while trying to keep the phrase 'making love' out of his head. Not easy when he's giving him those eyes. 

And as they (fuck, it's fucking) have sex Morgan touches him in slow, lingering movements like a caress, down his back and arms, over the sides of his face. It's a pleasant feeling by itself but the context makes it a little creepy. His skin feels like it's trying to draw away from his bones.

"Does it still feel good?" he asks. 

Morgan nods, a little jerk of his head. "In a different way. I'm... all stuffed."

"And in your head?" he presses, glancing down at his still limp dick and palming his pliable limbs. His thighs are like marshmallows. "Helpless? Vulnerable?"

"A doll," Morgan whispers. His hands come back up to his shoulders, pressing the fingers in as his face tightens into a look of vague concentration. "Quiet."

Eris hesitates; examining his feelings too deeply seems unwise right now, but for him this is a kind of dirty talk and he _is_ curious. "From being acted on, huh? Just taking my cock? Even though--because--you're not getting anything out of it?"

"Your..."

"My cock." He's a little dubious about introducing him to language like this. He'd liked him not using any, the way he just moaned and sighed while being fucked, but it might be nice this way too, as long as he's able to switch it on and off. "Tell me all about it, babe, how good it is."

"Yesss... taking your... your cock..."

That word out of those sweet pink lips is one of the best things he's ever heard. Only his master's voice is better, and he had rarely even said damn, but as much as he wanted to he and master had never... Yes, he thinks he can hear a lot more of this from time to time. "Tell me again."

"'m taking your cock..." His voice roughens though they are still going nice and slow, a little whistle-like whine entering it. "It's great."

Eris laughs breathlessly, and though he loves the sight of Morgan's face, closes his eyes just before he comes. Too romantic to look at them in this pivotal moment and now he's remembering master, the chaste details and the not, shirt off to garden in the summer, the cat-shaped slant of his eyes and his hand ruffling his hair.

He comes into Morgan's ass pressed close as possible for their height difference, squeezing his face into his baby-round cheek. A whimper sounds into his ear, a sweet little mewling of a noise, as Morgan helpfully clenches on his cock with every pulse of semen squirting inside him. 

They stay together some indeterminate amount of time as he drowses off a little, becoming warm and cozy together. Now he wants to go back to bed. But there are things to be done today, unfortunately, and the cats will start scratching soon.

He kisses Morgan on his eyelids and prepares for the day like any other. Morgan follows almost as soon as he leaves the room even though his legs are still trembling and wet with come running down his thighs. 

Black tea for breakfast, sliced apples in oatmeal. Morgan eats with an amusing air of languid indulgence. "What's to-do today?"

"We need actual clothing for you, for one. And I was thinking to get a tarp." Field dressing an animal outside is one thing; seems insensitive to do the same for a person. Inside he'll need a way to keep off the worst of the mess anyway, but he's not sure what will work or how much blood there will be until he's cutting him up.

Until then. A spot of satisfaction, surely? Just to tide him over. 

Without a word of preamble he grips Morgan's jaw in one hand and with the other slams his palm into the same tender cheek he had nuzzled into. Morgan steadies himself quick as a cat, grabbing onto the table edge, his mouth snarling for one thrilling moment, almost instantaneously turning meek and docile again. His head bows forward obediently, eyes raised away from the side of his face lit up like he'd been sitting by a hearth all day.

Eris rubs his hands together. His left pleasantly buzzes. "You take everything I have to give you so well, sweetling. Say, would you like to go with me?"

"To town?"

"They know about me, and we tolerate each other, which is as much as you can ask for from a small town." He hurries on over the start of a frown pulling down Morgan's lips. "They'll assume you're the same if you're with me but no one will hurt you. They probably won't talk to you at all, which is how you'd like it, right?"

He drums his fingers on the table. "Will they... know about us?"

"What, that we're screwing?" He 'pispispis''s Leona into his lap with a pat on his thigh. She unfurls over his legs with spread toe-beans, purring happily as he digs into her thick coat of marmalade tabby fur. Her eyes open to a squint, left dark blue and right hazel, highlighted by an 'eyeliner' of white almost meeting an hourglass on the delicate bridge of her nose. "They'll probably think you're my apprentice, maybe also a relative. If they think of _that_ it'll be more to do with me being a pervert than anything with you."

She's so petite he can almost encircle her waist with his hand. He busies himself trying as he waits for some kind of answer, then scruffs his knuckles over her vibrating rib cage. When he looks up again to prompt for a reply, Morgan is staring down at her with an expression eerily close to a glower. Not enough for him to really call him on it, but Leona, clever girl, seems to sense the mood and scampers off neatly without catching a single claw. He watches her trot back down the hall. "They might have heard about you anyway."

Morgan moves his gaze to Eris' face. "That man."

"Sure. Since you made such an impression."

Back away again. Thoughtful. "Then... alright."

There's not much to do to prepare, except a knack of jerky and salted meats. At his pace the walk takes the better part of an afternoon, and even with the recent storm no doubt causing some debris, the path is an easy one to follow. Walk alongside the river.

"What do you know about towns? Do you go in them often?" 

The weather is nice again today. Morgan is dressed again mostly in his clothing, an old t-shirt and lounge shorts, in the same hoodie jacket he arrived with. Washing hasn't done it much good but at least the mud is out. Pants might be better if the weather cools down substantially, but walking is going to be hard enough for him in shoes at least two sizes too large.

"No. Just for clothes." 

They walk a while in silence beside the river, the sound under their shoes changing from the crunch crunch of leaves into the soft sucking of still moist dirt. It feels thoughtful. Not sure how to quantify that quality, except that Morgan, when he steals a look at him, looks more pensive than he usually does (feels strange to use that word for someone he has known for all of a few days, but his expression is so often blank it seems to fit). Then he says in a reluctantly continuing tone, as if the last thing he said was five seconds ago instead of five minutes, "To steal."

"Oh. Well... I'm not surprised." He shifts his knack from one shoulder to the other. "You're in a unique position for trade though, you know; you wouldn't have to."

"The meat?"

He nods. "And how much do you know about _that_?"

Morgan stumbles forward out of one of his shoes, barely righting himself in time with one socked foot up, like a flamingo. Stuck in a mucky spot full of water. He jams it back into the shoe and _plooops_ it out. 

Really hard not to trip him. But he'd get more dirty than hurt.

"Animals are sick," he says a little breathlessly, "wild? Eat meat, get sick too."

"And if people get sick?" Eris prompts. He might not know the rest. It doesn't apply to them.

But Morgan nods seriously. A shadow for a moment falls over his face, deeper than the shade from the foliage. "It spreads. Fire kills the sick."

"Right. But people like meat all the same, so they breed their own supply, or take a chance and hunt--for small game, usually. Both are risky." Any non-domestic mammal can catch the sick if exposed, and hunting, there's always the risk of exposing yourself. Can't get meat cooked lower than well-done wherever you go, either. A shame; he quite enjoys rare, but then, he has no chance of catching it. "Like any valuable commodity, anyone gets whatever their source is, they mostly hold onto it for themselves. So you get someone who doesn't have a direct line, especially once you're established as trustworthy as can be for a witch--"

"Trade for goods."

"Smart boy."

Morgan smiles brilliantly. Even here under the trees looks brighter for it.

 

There's no issue getting there, or in. His evening visits are rare, but they know him at the gate, by reputation if not by sight. The boy they eye harder but no one asks. Looking for bruises, he wonders, or trying to see the colour of his eyes through the dark and the harsh torchlight. He wonders if they can tell, what they would think if they _can_. Eye colour is only a common occurrence, never a guarantee of one being a witch or not. But people need 'tells' like that especially in these suspicious little villages. They feel safer if they think they know what to look for.

If they can tell Morgan's eyes are only blue, he wonders if they would feel sorry for him, even though he is walking so close to him he is practically in his jeans. Or maybe that would be another thing to feel sorry for. Of course a witch would make a thrall out of a child. Nevermind that he has no such ability.

Then again, maybe they'd just hate him for the company he keeps.

Business goes quick and easy. Like the guards, they don't really acknowledge his tag-along, which is for the best. Morgan glues himself to his back whenever he talks to people, only reluctantly coming out to be measured. Even then the tailor seems to look past him as she and Eris speak in very general terms. Trading terms, which he is more than generous with. Winters here aren't so hard he needs to hoard. Often it doesn't snow at all, and maybe that's the reason or because they're sick, but the wild things don't seem to migrate or care. Hunting is no trouble for him.

For the hours it took to get here, in only half an hour he has all he need. A new pair of size 5 shoes, size 12 for clothing, three pairs of shirts, trousers, and underwear. Socks.

If it does snow Morgan can wear his things. There's no need to be concerned about him freezing so it's not much of a priority. And in the future... in the future, he'll have a better idea of what he might need. Both of them. It'll be hard to find in such a petite size, especially for a male's anatomy, but think of how adorably precocious he'd look in lingerie. Something lacy and black or a baby doll in baby blue to match his eyes.

Morgan has been quiet from start to end with no opinions of his own to offer about anything; the style, fit, nothing. He'd expected as much with strangers around but it'll be good for him to get used to others, too. Next time they come here, instead of clinging to him like a burr--

"Eris."

He comes up short at the gates. Morgan nearly bumps into him (his forehead leans into his upper back) then grabs onto his elbow, what feels like his cheek pressing into his bicep. He's hard-pressed to remember the voice itself, but he can think of only one person likely to call out to him.

A man comes up to meet them. He's never seen Arthur McAuley in the daytime so his mental image of him is always filled with shadows and golden light. Good-looking with what he imagines to be a nice body beneath the coat, though his sandy hair has started thinning from when he last saw him.

"Something the matter, captain?"

His eyes focus on him only a moment before sliding down and over. "There two of you over there now?"

"My student," Eris replies lightly. It's the most acceptable answer he can think of; not that he believes this will make them very happy either. "He found his way to me through the woods. So I've taken him in as my own." He braces himself for further questioning, something about the kid he's been beating. 

But Arthur dismissively shakes his head. "We lost one of ours near your place. You or the kid seen him? Real greenhorn, just about nineteen."

"Oh?" His expression must show genuine surprise. A tension he hadn't noticed until it's absence drains from Arthur's face. "There was the one... I sent him back over, though. I can't imagine he got lost again, unless you're recruiting from the directional dyslexic now."

Arthur hmms, scratching absently at his stubble. "Maybe there was a swell along the banks he got caught in. We'll try dragging the river, see if something comes up. Thanks for your time." 

"Not a problem." 

He feels his eyes on him even without looking, passing over him from head to toe. It's enough to make him a little irritated but this isn't new treatment, not in general, and particularly not from whoever the current captain of the hunters is. Arthur's predecessor had been even more obnoxious about it, following him around whenever he entered town like he was a thief to be watched.

As always he's glad to be going back home.

 

The walk back goes slow and careful as the dark comes in, even with the bright fall moon. It's more time-consuming than tiring. Morgan holds his hand once they are reasonably out of range of the gates. He doesn't mind, but wishes he'd tell him why. Does he feel scared about meeting people who know what he is? Just feeling affectionate?

It is early morning when they return and the cats are crying and spitting. Even Dolly has crawled out of some furniture space to slink by Morgan and curl around Eris' feet, chirping incessantly. Poor babies, without their dinner. Personally the bed sounds more tempting than the kitchen.

"Are _you_ hungry?" he asks, once his poor darling babes have been seen to. After the chaos of scampering feet and yowling, the nook fills with the minute sounds of licking. Much quieter but somehow more disturbing.

"No. I'm fine."

He's been practically on his ass all day. It's draining even though he barely says anything. If he was talkative it might actually be preferable. Then at least he'd know where his mind is at. 

Eris sighs a little, just to himself. "Today wasn't so bad, was it? I mean, in terms of what you might be used to. It gets easier the more you go. The next time--"

" _No_."

God, he doesn't want to deal with this right now. But Morgan follows him into the spare room, thwarting any attempt to busy himself with thinking about where Morgan's clothes should go. Having the hoodie around was one thing but now he has actual clothing and something in him cringes against the thought of sharing closet space. "What do you mean, no? We'll have to go sometime. Clothing wears down. Tools. I don't have the time or skills to do _everything_ on my own."

"Then--"

Eris will go alone, fine, he's used to that. 

"--I'll go alone."

He turns, squinting at Morgan. Enough early blue light is coming in that he can see his face and he's not sure what to make of it. Neutral on the surface, something simmering beneath. "You? You didn't say a single word while we were there."

"I can. I'll do it. You can stay with your... cats."

"We'll see," is all he has the energy to say. When it comes up Morgan will back out, or come back with the wrong thing, or whatever, and nothing will change. And even if he does do it right, so what? One less thing for him to worry about. Still. Even with the way they look at him, and the occasional meaningless sex, he likes being around other people every now and again. Witch or not, he's still human. He doesn't really want to give it up.

They settle in for the night and he allows Morgan to kiss him, open-mouthed and hungry, as he lazily pinches him in return. Little spots up and down his arms turn black and blue before fading away. Thinking about slicing him open later in the day gets him hard enough that Morgan rides him again. He closes his eyes and enjoys the slow pleasure of it, how comforting-like it is while he is so sleepy and ready to nod off. He doesn't think either of them get off before he does slip into dreamland. A few hours he wakes briefly with him still curled up on top of him, still connected.

"Lucky you're cute," he grumbles, voice thick with sleep fuzz. Morgan's skin is hot with cuddling and sunlight but the air itself feels like another brisk autumn morning. Ugh. Cuddling... but his limbs feel too heavy to push him off, or move at all, really. The cats ate this morning technically, so there's no reason not to close his eyes again and...

...

...

...

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Adil's Charismatic Carnivore](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18914443) by [Cat_Face](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cat_Face/pseuds/Cat_Face)




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